


Inadequate

by watchtheskiesfall_98



Series: Diabolik Lovers - Slave AU [2]
Category: Diabolik Lovers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, F/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Romance, Sex, Sexual Abuse, Slavery, slave AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-11-05 14:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11015178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchtheskiesfall_98/pseuds/watchtheskiesfall_98
Summary: Put in a box and ordered to stay there, Ayato has no choice but to obey. But a human who discovers him and brings him home with her could be a new beginning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the same world as my Laito fic, enjoy! ^_^

Memories have overtaken him, still burning, tearing him apart. He hasn’t been allowed to move for _ages_ , simply sitting here, waiting for his master to return. But maybe his master will never return, and he’ll stay in this spot forever—just an unmoving, worthless piece of trash. If he had been better, if he had been good enough, this wouldn’t have happened. It’s his own fault, isn’t it? Always trying, never succeeding.

After yet another failure, in a long, terrible string of failures, his master had resorted not just to beating him, but to _this_. It’s been so long since that day, but still he’s terrified to move, convinced that in some way his master is watching and will come to punish him the moment he disobeys. He wishes he would die, because if no one ever comes for him he knows he will sit here until the world ends. And that terrifies him more than all the abuse he’s ever endured. 

Toxic light stings his eyes, blinding him before he uses his arms to cover his face. What is going on? Did his master come back? But, peeking past his arms as he tries to adjust to the light, he knows that it can’t be his master. Because this human is female. Months without exposure to light have destroyed his ability to see in the day though, so he can barely make out much more than her outline. 

“What’s this?” Her voice is gentle, but he’s had enough experience with humans to know that the beautiful voices are the most deceiving ones. Still hiding behind his arms, he places his forehead on his knees and wills her to go away. She’ll only hurt him like everyone else, plus if she makes him move, his master will be angry. 

“Hey, who put you in here?” She tries again, still softly. Unable to help himself, he glances upwards, now able to make out more of her face. Her eyes are green. Like his, he thinks. But immediately he looks away again, remembering his master’s order not to talk to any other humans. This one should be no exception, and he desperately hopes she won’t order him to do anything, because he knows he’ll have to obey. 

“I want you to come out of there, okay?” No. He can’t. But when he looks up, her hand is already reaching towards him, and he has no choice other than to take it. Gingerly gripping her hand, he stands and climbs out of the box his master put him in all that time ago. Those terrible words commanding him to get in and stay still haunt him, repeating in his mind, driving him _insane_. 

“You’re going to come home with me.” Though said kindly, it is unmistakably an order that he must follow, and she keeps her hand in his as a precaution to make sure he does so. Walking down the scarcely populated streets, he finds himself distracted by the view, having almost forgotten what anything looks like outside of the box. But the distraction doesn’t last long, fear of what will happen when his master finds out about this beginning to set in. Will he be angry? Will he care at all? Either way, the prospect of it is terrifying, his hands beginning to tremble. 

Her hand grips his tighter as she leads him down numerous streets, maybe in a way that’s meant to be comforting. But a human could never comfort him. None of them have the kindness in their hearts to do so, not for him at least. Not for a slave that constantly disappoints, that is never deserving of praise. Still, he tries to please them, hoping one day that he won’t be punished for everything he does. 

Minutes later, they come upon a mansion—not as grand as the one his master lives in, but still quite large. This woman obviously has a lot of money, so why bring home a slave she found in a box? Why not just buy one and leave him to follow his master’s orders? But he has little time to dwell on it as she leads him inside, straight to a bathroom where she begins to fill a tub with water. 

“You’re filthy.” She says a little sadly as she begins to tug off his clothes, guiding him to the bath and helping him step inside. The warm water envelops him, and he thinks it’s the nicest thing he’s felt in a while, if not ever. Maybe she intends to clean him up and try to use him as her own slave, though she will find out quickly how dreadful he is at it. Then she will beat him too and things will be no different. 

“What’s your name?” At her question, he sinks his shoulders beneath the water and looks away. “Answer me.” Her tone is a little more forceful this time. 

“It’s Ayato.” And now he has broken the second one of his master’s orders—never talking to another human. 

“I like that name.” She smiles, dipping her hands in the water and starting to clean his body. Shuddering at her touch, he tries not to jerk away, knowing that there will most likely be consequences if he does. But nothing good has ever come of humans touching him; they always cause pain in every way imaginable. It’s not as if he doesn’t deserve it—he knows he must pay for every failure—but his reaction to being touched is almost involuntary. 

“I won’t hurt you.” Her voice is soothing, even if it’s telling lies. “How long were you in that box? Why were you put there?” And he knows he is expected to reply. 

“A year. Master told me to stay.” Keeping his response short, he avoids eye contact. Humans rarely want him to talk for long, so he’s learned give concise answers to every question in order to avoid punishment. 

“That long?” Appalled, her brows crinkle together, scrunching her face in a pretty sort of way. Yes, she is pretty for a human, long black hair braided over her shoulder, all her features soft and gentle. But things like that mean nothing, not really. Behind their beautiful exteriors, all humans are ugly inside, ready to hurt him for any semblance of wrongdoing. 

“Yes. He ordered me not to move from that spot. Ever.” His voice is a whisper now, considering all the things his master might do to him if he were to find out. Just the thought sends terrible shivers down his spine, chilling the water around him. But he becomes aware of a soft feeling, realizing after a dull moment that her fingers are running through his hair. No one has ever done that before. It feels…nice. But he knows better than to trust that feeling. 

“He’s not your master anymore. So don’t worry about him.” Removing her fingers from his hair, she stands and makes to exit the room. “You finish up in here, and I’ll bring you some nicer clothes.” And as the door closes behind her, he wonders what is possessing her to be so kind, but more so when the façade will end. So he gives himself a moment to just revel in the warm water, needing to treasure the pleasantness of it before she becomes like every other owner—cruel, strict, demeaning. Because what other motives could she have?


	2. Chapter 2

As promised, she brings him clothing—nicer clothes than he has ever been provided before. Though hesitant to accept them, it doesn’t seem as if he will be given anything different, so he puts them on despite his discomfort. If his old master were to see him like this…he would likely be livid. The only clothing fit for someone like him is dirty rags, and he knows better than to pretend otherwise.

“Follow me.” Once he is dressed and dried off, she guides him to a room—one he assumes is hers. It’s large, painted in neutral colors, including all the usual amenities a room should hold. This _must_ be her room, otherwise why would she bring him here? Maybe…she wants him to sleep with her? The thought sends a shudder of disgust down his spine.

“You can stay here.” She smiles gently at him, but he can’t help being confused. Previous masters have had him sleep many places before; in bed with them, on the floor, in a closet, even outside like a dog. But no one has ever offered him his own room, much less with his own bed. There’s some trick or motive behind this, right? Or maybe she doesn’t realize yet how useless he is.

“Are you sure, Mistress?” He faces her tentatively, waiting for the catch.

“Of course.” There’s that gentle smile again, the one that makes promises it can’t keep. “I’m down the hall if you need anything. I think you should rest.” She leaves him then, the door closing behind her with a distinct click. Reaching out, he tries the handle, expecting it to be locked in place. Instead, it opens, and he finds himself falling through the doorway rather clumsily.

“Ayato?” Only halfway down the hall, his mistress turns around to look at him, brows scrunched with concern. Here he is, with a brand new start, screwing things up from the beginning. His stomach churns as he rights himself and casts his gaze towards the floor, preparing to apologize. For once…for once can he do something right? 

“Forgive me, Mistress.” He begins, his voice shaky. “I thought it would be locked.” Shame has begun to set in—she ordered him to rest and instead he did something as foolish as this. She’s sure to be angry, punish him, maybe even bring him back to his box. Even the slightest mistake is worthy of punishment, he’s not so stupid as to believe otherwise.

“Locked…?” Trailing off, she considers him for a moment, and he can only imagine that she’s coming up with the perfect way to discipline his behavior. “Ayato, I’m not going to lock you up.” She takes a few steps towards him, her words causing him to glance at her face. Not going to lock him up? But that’s what everyone does, simply hiding him away somewhere until they have use for him.

“But you ordered me to—”

“I didn’t order you to do anything. Resting was merely a suggestion.” She interrupts, and though her voice is soft, he flinches involuntarily. Even if she says so, she must know that to someone like him, every word that leaves a human’s mouth is an order. Whether it be to act or not to not act, there is never a moment where he is not obeying the words that have been spoken to him.

“Mistress, you’re home.” An unfamiliar, female voice breaks into his thoughts, and he turns to see who it belongs to. Her dark hair is pulled into a loose bun, a maid’s outfit adorning her body. Round, hazel eyes fixate on him, narrowing suspiciously. “Is that a…”

“Slave?” His mistress finishes for the woman, raising a brow. “Ayato, Elena is my maid. She can help you with any of your tasks if you need it. You will also answer to her when I’m am not here.” As his mistress finishes speaking, Elena’s gaze returns to him. The animosity in her eyes is evident, fear shooting through his system instantly.

“Forgive me Mistress, but I was under the impression that you didn’t want things like… _that_ —” Elena nods pointedly in his direction. “—inside the house.” Ayato shrinks back under her harsh stare, recognizing that look of utter _disgust_ from many previous masters. This human terrifies him almost as much as his mistress, his only comfort being that Elena is a servant, and might not be allowed to discipline him.

“I never said such a thing.” His mistress frowns, eyeing Elena warily. “Ayato, you look exhausted. Sleep if you wish.” With the slightest nod, he slips back into the room she assigned to him, closing the door and waiting for the inevitable sound of it locking behind him. But, just like last time, it doesn’t. None of this makes sense to him, why would his mistress defend him in front of Elena?

Crawling into bed, he tries to push all thought out of his head for just a little while, but he can’t even be comfortable when trying to sleep. Every shift of his body reminds him how nice this bed is compared to anything he’s ever been allowed to sleep on, and despite being given permission to sleep on it, he’s terrified that he will be punished for his actions anyway. His mistress’s kindness is not to be trusted, there must be some motive behind her actions. A motive he can’t decipher yet.

His thoughts drift to his old master, further preventing him from sleep. Every moment he spends in this house is dangerous; at any time that man could come demanding him back. Many of his masters were cruel—violent even. But his most recent master was nothing short of vicious, putting Ayato through things he didn’t even realize were _possible_. All the scars left by that terrible person tingle as he relives the pain in his mind. Any master would be better, even this woman with whatever she is plotting.

It isn’t until he slides out of bed and lays on the floor that he is able to settle the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. This is where he belongs, not in a fancy bed all to himself. Actually sleeping there would be like a proclamation of arrogance, almost as if begging for punishment. Besides, he’s used to the floor. Even if he wakes up sore every morning and even if it isn’t always clean, he knows it’s his place. The only time he should ever be in a bed is if a human has commanded him to be there with them.

As sleep overtakes him, he tries to quell the hope that something good will come of this, that this home will be better than his last one. Because hope is the nemesis of creatures like him. Hope only brings on disappointment. It is better never to have hope in the first place than to suffer through the pain of having it ripped away from you…

Right?


	3. Chapter 3

She had given him a simple task. It is only one room, so it shouldn’t be a problem, right? But he is on edge, touching every item with painstaking care, making absolutely certain not to break anything. He’d been asked to clean things before—it was a normal duty for slaves—but he had never failed to break something or ruin a master’s possession in some way. And he had always been punished severely for it. 

So he is taking it slow, checking every nook and cranny of the room to make it as clean as possible. This, in itself was another problem. As careful as he was, he was often punished for not cleaning fast enough, being unbearably slow. But when he wasn’t slow, he had a tendency to damage things. It’s never good enough, never ever good enough. If he were better at this, better at doing the tasks expected of him, then he might not have all these scars. 

Just thinking about the things that were done to him in the past makes his skin _crawl_ , every single scar a painful reminder of his shortcomings. It makes him wonder again why this woman wants him, and how long it will take her to realize that owning him is pointless. Maybe this time he’ll do things better. That’s what he has to hope. This time, he _will_ be a good slave, and then she won’t have any reason to hurt him or get rid of him. 

“You’re rather slow, aren’t you?” A sharp voice cuts through his thoughts, and he looks to see that the maid—Elena—has entered the room. There is only malice present in her eyes, analyzing his every move, waiting for him to mess up as he so often does. She could punish him right this instant for not being fast enough if she wanted to, and that fear dampens his ability to function properly. 

“Forgive me, Miss Elena.” He bows his head, preparing for a possible punishment. 

“Continue.” After a silence, she gives him an order then leans against the doorway, obviously intending to watch. But her hazel eyes boring through him make him all the more nervous, fingers becoming shaky, movements less graceful. At this rate he really _will_ mess up again. He can’t take the thought, he wants to run away right now, but he has no choice other than to obey. 

It happens, of course, just how he imagined it. Walking by a table to get to another area of the room, a vase of flowers is bumped and begins to topple to the floor. He tries desperately to catch it, but to no avail, and he is forced to watch as it shatters against the ground. Shards of glass fly in every direction, a pool of water staining the rug beneath roses with broken stems. The scene looks much like what he expects will happen to his body, memories resurfacing of similar events to this. One master in particular had picked up a shard of glass and begun to cut him with it. 

“Idiot!” A slap across the face jars him back to the present. 

“I’m sorr—ah!” Another slap cuts off his attempt at apology, and he staggers back a few steps. Funny how a human that’s smaller than him can inflict so much pain simply because he is not allowed to fight back. But that is for good cause. He deserves this. He is a failure, so he deserves to be punished. Sinking to his knees, he steels himself for the pain to come, and he isn’t disappointed. 

In this new, compromising position, Elena takes the opportunity to kick him—more than once. At the moment, it seems this is the only harm she is capable of doing, but it is enough. Each blow reminds him again and again that he has to be better, he _must_ be better. This only happens because he fails, so the only option is to not fail. That’s the only way he can go on living because this…this isn’t worth it. 

“Stop! Elena, what do you think you’re doing?” The stern voice of his mistress cuts through the pain, and the kicking stops. 

“Forgive me, Mistress, but shouldn’t he be punished for what he has broken?” Elena motions to the vase that’s still shattered on the floor next to him, and he has the sudden urge to grab one of the pieces and draw it across his wrists. Just sit there and slowly feel his life ebb away as he bleeds out. But it’s not that easy to kill the likes of him—no simple thing like a shard of glass could do it. That doesn’t stop him from wishing it could. 

“I told you how he was going to be treated. Ayato come with me.” Reaching out her hand just as she did yesterday, his mistress casts a concerned glance down at him. He slips his hand in hers and lets her help him up, though he is reluctant to do so. He doesn’t understand why she’s mad at Elena and not him. She was only properly punishing him, wasn’t she? 

“Mistress—” 

“Not another word.” His mistress snaps, cutting off Elena before she can finish. “Elena, I want you to clean this up. And don’t harm him again.” They leave Elena behind, gaping at them in shock as he follows his mistress down to the bedroom she claims is his. Leading him inside and closing the door behind them, she begins to inspect him. 

“You look alright for the most part.” She finally says, stepping away from him. 

“Mistress, I broke it so…shouldn’t you…” He trails off, unable to finish his sentence. He knows it’s only justice if he’s punished, and he knows he wasn’t punished nearly enough for breaking his master’s belonging. But…he doesn’t _want_ to endure any more pain. Every fiber of his being is desperate for it to stop even if he knows it’s only justice. 

“No. It wasn’t important. Elena was brought up a certain way, and…” His mistress pauses to think. “And it doesn’t matter. No one here will hurt you, okay?” She waits for him to nod in understanding, which he does only for her benefit. Though she says that, someone here already has hurt him, and he has never known a human to keep a promise. His acceptance of her words seems to satisfy her for the moment, and she takes her leave, telling him to rest and let his wounds heal. 

She must not realize yet that he is pointless as a house slave. Maybe she considers today a one-time occurrence. But it’s not—he will fail tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, and every day until she finally understands that he is not worth her time and effort. Many humans spent time trying to retrain him, make him better at his purpose, but all of them failed, and he was left to simply be a subpar slave undeserving of any praise. And he will never overcome that. 

Time goes by slowly, until it is night out and slivers of moonlight slip through his window. He takes this as his cue to climb out of bed and find a place on the floor to sleep. The large, comfortable piece of furniture still seems like a trap, and he can’t bring himself to sleep on it yet. But his ears perk when he hears footsteps coming down the hall, ultimately stopping at his door. It opens slowly. 

“Ayato?” 

And his heart stops.


	4. Chapter 4

Fear numbs his entire body the instant he sees her. All it takes is one step in his direction to send him scrambling for a corner, her presence domineering. Dark, hazel eyes fixate on him, a small smirk playing at her thin lips. She’s come to finish what she started—he knew getting off with a few kicks wouldn’t cut it. But for a moment there he had actually hoped that just this once there wouldn’t be any pain. 

“Come with me.” Elena beckons him, backlit by the light of the door as her fingers reach in his direction. Though he trembles, he stands and lets her take his hand. Every single step he takes feels heavier, like a death sentence dragging him down as she leads him down halls he doesn’t recognize. It’s all he can do to bite back pleads for mercy, because he could never deserve such a thing. Justice is this. Justice is whatever Elena has in store for him. 

An ominous doorway looms before him, and he is left no choice but to follow her through it, down the stone steps, and into the mansion’s basement. It’s dark and terrifying and he wants to run away from this awful place. But Elena takes his hand and opens it, placing two small, white pills in his palm. 

“Take them.” She orders, pushing his hand back towards him. His heart sinks even further than before; he knows what these are. Previous masters have forced him to take them before to make him fulfill their needs better. He has vague memories of a brother who took these same pills regularly. Terrible things happened to that brother—things he shuddered to think of when he was a child. But by now similar, if not worse, things have happened to him. 

“Good boy.” Elena croons when he brings his hand to his mouth, placing the pills on the tip of his tongue. Swallowing them burns his throat, body immediately trying to eject them. He doesn’t like what they do to him, doesn’t like how that make him _feel_. A tingling sort of sensation creeps across his skin, blood beginning to heat. He hates this. He hates this so much he would rather experience pain. 

“Miss Elena—” 

“Ah!” She cuts him off. “When we’re alone, you call me Mistress.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” Hanging his head, he responds obediently. Something inside him wishes his mistress would walk through the door and stop this. That could never happen though; it is more likely she’d watch and enjoy it just like other humans. Past masters would love to showcase his pain, inviting others to watch the massacre of his punishments. Even if he deserved it, it taught him to fear humans—what kind of brutal creature uses someone else’s pain for their entertainment? 

“Hah, you’re already so hard.” When her hand makes contact with him through his pants, he gasps and involuntarily jerks away. “You really are slutty, aren’t you?” She simply closes the space between them, whispering in his ear and sending heat up his neck. It would do no good to tell her that he’s like this because of the pills she gave him. 

Tracing her fingers across his collarbone, she begins to unbutton his shirt, every single brush of her skin against his causing his breathing to thicken. His skin is so sensitive, body trembling as her hands make their way down to the rim of his pants. 

“I’ve barely even touched you and you can’t contain yourself.” Elena giggles. “How dirty.” Despite knowing that this is all because of the drugs she gave him, her words make him feel so ashamed. On top of breaking one of his master’s possessions, he’s now showing desire for a human. It’s despicable, he deserves to be punished. 

Her fingers deftly work at the rest of his clothing, until he is completely exposed to her cruel, roving eyes. Everything about this makes him want to crawl into a corner and beg her not to do the things she has in mind for him. Because he knows what’s coming will be far from pleasurable for him. It never is. Never. 

“Vampires heal when you cut them right?” Cold metal presses against his skin, and all he can manage is a small nod. Today, the knife she intends to use is plain metal, but his body sports the scars of masters who used silver because they never wanted him to heal. Because they wanted his worthlessness not only burned in his memory, but also etched across skin for him to stare at every day. 

“Kh…!” The blade draws against his sensitive skin, trailing diagonally from his collarbone. Clenching his teeth, he forces himself to bear it, unable to stop watching as the blood starts to drip down his chest. The crimson color would almost be beautiful if it weren’t a symbol of his own pain. Elena continues to slash at him, each one bringing a gasp, sometimes a whimper, until she seems to lose interest. 

“Every part of you heals…right?” Her eyes gleam with a new idea—one he feels will be very unpleasant for him. 

“Yes Mistress.” It almost feels like sacrilege to call her such a thing when his true mistress is just upstairs. But he’s forced to do as he’s told. “Ahn!” He cries out when she takes his member in her hand, the drugs still doing their awful work. But fulfilling his desires is the least of Elena’s concerns, and the flash of her knife makes him realize what she’s about to do. 

Searing pain tears through his system, a scream ripped from his throat through gritted teeth. She cuts slowly, making every bit of the torture count. It’s more than he can bear, bringing him to his knees as he tries everything in his power simply to cope. Very few things he has suffered have been more painful than this, and even when she stops, his entire body throbs with the force of it. 

“Huh, so it even heals _there_.” Elena muses, bending down to his level to study as the wound begins to close itself. “Again, then?” 

“P-Please…don’t…” He stutters, unable to bear it anymore. Every inch of pain is well-deserved and he has no right to ask for anything different, but…he can’t. He can’t do it. 

“Begging me to stop? Don’t you know your place? I believe this calls for more punishment, don’t you?” No pity lies behind her eyes—just sadism and cruel pleasure in the pain of others. Then it’s starting again, and he’s screaming until he has no voice to scream anymore, knowing that no one will hear him in this place. And even if they heard, no one would care. 

Trapped in the darkness and subjected to Elena’s torture, the only thing he can do is try to shut out the pain. It’s what he deserves. If he tells himself that, he can accept it, maybe survive until it stops. This is what he deserves. If he were better, this never would have been necessary. If he were better, the pain would all stop. 

This is what he deserves.


	5. Chapter 5

The knife feels clumsy in his hands, every chop making the vegetables come out wrong and uneven. Even this simple task is one he cannot seem to complete properly. Elena will probably come to check on him soon, see how bad of a job he’s doing, and punish him for it just as she did last night. His body, though mostly healed, still seems to feel the effects of her blade on his skin, sending a shudder through his system. 

For the few hours he was left alone, he had developed a fantasy about telling his mistress what had been done to him, receiving sympathy from her, never having to be subjected to that kind of torture again. But his mistress is a human too—she would simply tell him it was punishment his deserved for his wrongdoings. And she’d be right. Such a fantasy could never be a reality. 

“Kh—” A slip of the blade slices his finger open, blood dripping onto the cutting board before the wound can begin to heal. Healing the way he does would be a blessing if it were not evidence of what he is, what he can never _not_ be. If he were never a vampire, he could live a happy life, like the humans. A slight, airy laugh makes him tense, turning his head just enough to see his mistress leaning against the kitchen doorway. 

“You’re not very good at that, are you?” She motions to the bloodstained, poorly chopped vegetables, taking a few steps inside. 

“Forgive me, Mistress. Punish me in any way you see fit.” Hastily, he turns to face her, bowing his head and offering himself. It’s better not to struggle. The pain is only worse when he tries to make it stop. To fight back would be shameful anyway, like making a claim that his punishment isn’t well-deserved. The soft smile leaves her face, delicate brows crinkling together and distorting her face into a frown. 

“Punishment for not knowing how to do something?” She’s closer now, tone still as kind as ever. Some humans like to be kind though, because they enjoy the look of betrayal on his face—he’s come to see it as another form of punishment. “It’s not your fault you don’t know how to do it.” A few more steps and she’s close enough to touch. It almost seems as if she’s studying him, though there’s no reason she would want to do that. 

“I-I will do better next time, Mistress.” He stumbles over his words, resisting the urge to back out of the range of her touch. The pain will come any moment, his body is already tensed and prepared to take on whatever sort of reprimand she has to give. But no pain comes, his mistress fixated in her place, eyes holding contact with his. Those eyes are pretty. Pretty humans always hurt him the most. 

“How will you do better if no one teaches you?” The question leaves him at a loss for words, no good answer ready at his lips. Maybe she will punish him for not having an answer, too. “Look, I’m going to show you how to make something I like.” Her smile is sweet as she moves past him—he only flinches a little—and begins grabbing ingredients from various cabinets and laying them out on the counter. 

“Mistress, I…don’t understand.” He says cautiously, casting a wary eye towards the materials she has chosen. Some are them are things he’s never seen before, things he couldn’t even begin to know what to do with. This is probably just a ploy on her part to command him to make something he has no experience with, only to punish him for failing. It’s not fair, really, that he’s never asked to do anything he can accomplish. Though, maybe he is incapable of doing _anything_ well. 

“Just watch. If you have any questions, ask.” Her response is simple, but just as confusing as the ingredients she has started to organize. Him? Watch a human work? That isn’t the hierarchy of things, this isn’t right at all. It makes him anxious, as if all this is leading up to some sort of punishment that he doesn’t understand yet. But it is what she commanded him to do, so he obliges. 

Watching her cook is fascinating, yet also terrifying. As riveted as he is by her hands taking some foods and easily making them into other foods, he can’t quite keep up with the process, isn’t yet able to commit it to memory. Even with all his focus on what she’s doing, he can’t quite memorize all the steps. What if she asks him to make this for her later? What if he can’t do it right? What if he fails yet again, bringing on the wrath of his mistress? Or worse, the wrath of Elena? 

“It’s finished…!” Her exclamation drags him back from his thoughts, and he realizes with a sense of dread that he missed the last few things she did. He will never be able to replicate the recipe. But, trying to push away the awful feeling that arises in his stomach, he obediently looks at the dish she’s made. 

The more he looks, the less it makes sense. All she has made are small, round, unappetizing brown balls that don’t seem as if they should be eaten at all. They _smell_ like food, but they don’t particularly look like it. He is in no position to criticize though, so he simply stays silent while trying to figure out what exactly she wants him to do. 

“Don’t look so thrilled.” She chuckles. “It’s called takoyaki. I promise it doesn’t taste bad.” Holding out a hand, she offers one of them to him. He’s been asked to eat worse things before: poisonous creatures, aphrodisiacs, and once he was even forced to swallow acid after saying something that angered a particular master. This should at least be better than most things he’s encountered. 

He doesn’t expect anything special when he puts it in his mouth—just the opposite in fact. But he certainly doesn’t expect to _like_ it. His first instinct upon tasting something so wonderful is to swallow it and pretend to be indifferent. Because every time a human has discovered he liked something, whether food or otherwise, they found ways to involve it in his punishments until he didn’t like it anymore. 

“So you like it then.” A gentle smile creeps across her face, but that fact she could tell so easily that he enjoyed it makes his blood run cold. What will she do to him now? “Think of it as a reward.” The word _reward_ is one that he is barely familiar with—no one has ever given him a _reward_ for anything. He’s never been good enough. He wasn’t good enough today either; he failed, so why… 

“Reward?” He questions, waiting with baited breath for the other pin to drop. This is all leading up to something, it must be, or else what are her motives? Nobody simply rewards a slave for nothing, especially a slave like him. There’s a catch somewhere. She knows just as well as he does that he doesn’t deserve anything nice. 

“Yes, a reward. It’s for trying your best.” His mistress hands him another piece of takoyaki, which he gingerly accepts and places in his mouth. For trying his best? How can she reward him for _that_? Only success is justifiable reason to give him praise, yet…a nice feeling wells up inside him at the thought of it. It’s the closest thing to praise he’s ever received, and it’s selfish of him, but he wants to be praised again. So he has to try harder. He must be better.


	6. Chapter 6

“What?” The sound of his mistress’s voice, so obviously distressed, guides his attention from the task he was trying to accomplish. Has he done something wrong? No, she is on the telephone in the other room, brows creasing together as worry twists her features, the corners of her mouth pulling in a frown. Whatever the person on the other end of the line is saying, it is not good news. Yet he can’t help being happy that the reason for that look on her face is something other than him. Because he has seen distasteful expressions like that directed at him before, and he is not keen to dwell on those memories. 

Remaining paused in his duties, he tries to overhear what the other human is saying, though he knows he shouldn’t. But he wants to know what upsets his mistress so he can do his best to make it better. Anything for her to be pleased with him. As it is, even his heightened hearing can only pick up a few, useless words, doing nothing but make him feel guilty for attempting to eavesdrop on the first human that’s been kind to him. That kindness isn’t bound to last forever, so he must do his best to prolong it while he still seems to be in her favor. 

“Ayato?” 

He perks at the sound of his name, turning to face her as she walks in. “Yes, Mistress?” 

“I…something has come up. It’s a family matter. You will be fine if I leave you in the care of Elena?” She says it so calmly, but his heart lurches the moment she utters that woman’s name. The things Elena does to him are still unknown to her, and he has no inclination to tell her. Is it because of fear? No, not entirely. It’s because he’s getting what he deserves, and there’s no use in telling his mistress when she will probably let it continue to happen anyway. 

“Of course, Mistress.” Bowing his head obediently, he tries to hide the panic he knows is evident in his eyes. 

“I’ll be back in a week, okay?” Something in him wants to stop her, to beg her to stay, but his voice catches in his throat and he is unable to say a word. He knows Elena will hurt him while his mistress is gone, yet he has no grounds to object her treatment. It just means he’ll have to be better. In a week, when she comes back, he’ll be better. So much better. Then she will have a reason to praise him and Elena won’t have cause to hurt him anymore. Maybe this week doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It can be a chance for him to improve. 

In a matter of hours, his mistress's things are packed and she is preparing to leave, his fears taking over once again. What if she never comes back? What if this is a ploy to hurt him in the end, or worse, leave him with Elena forever? But he mustn’t think about such things, instead focusing on how to improve himself while she’s gone. Maybe he’ll attempt to make takoyaki, and have it waiting for her when she returns. 

“Remember my instructions?” Her words are directed towards Elena as she stands at the door, a sharp look in her eye. Elena nods, refusing to make eye contact. They must have had a conversation earlier that he wasn’t privy to. Of course, there would be no reason for him to be involved in the business of humans anyway. 

The moment his mistress steps out the door, Elena crosses the room in an instant, hand reaching out to slap him across the face. “You think I didn’t notice you eavesdropping on her conversation?” Her words sting more than the slap, guilt squeezing his heart. He hadn’t meant to—he just overheard. But that is simply an excuse to avoid punishment, as his previous masters have made clear to him. So he keeps his mouth shut. 

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?” Though shorter than him, her presence is commanding, two fingers gripping his chin and turning his head to force him to look into her eyes. His vocal chords protest the activity of speech when he opens his mouth, but he knows he must speak anyway. 

“Forgive me, Miss Elena.” Another slap stings his cheek. 

“What have I told you to call me when she is not here?” 

“Forgive me, Mistress.” His voice is barely a croak, eyes flicking to the door in the faint hope that his true mistress will walk back in. It’s a strange sort of hope he has—that if she were to come back, she’d stop this—when he knows she would probably just watch instead. Is it so wrong to wish for mercy, though? Even if it is undeserved? 

“A few slaps aren’t enough for what you’ve done, don’t you think?” Her voice takes a terrifying, sultry edge as one finger traces his jawline. Swallowing hard, he resists the urge to move away. “Tell me what you think you deserve.” His body starts to tremble once he realizes what she means. 

“I…I don’t…” 

“Speak up.” As her thumb ghosts over his lips, her mouth tilts into a cruel smile. “What should your punishment be?” 

“C…cut me…” He finally speaks, choosing something he knows she likes. Maybe if he finds some way to gain her favor, she’ll soften his punishment, even just a little. But the fire that lights in her eyes warns him that he’s made a mistake—a large mistake. 

“Hm? You want to be cut? How disgustingly masochistic.” At her words, he presses his lips tightly together, the desire to cave in on himself and disappear only growing. She set it up this way, gave him no choice but to give her a reply he thought she’d like, but in the end it is he who feels ashamed. Things have always been like this, and they always will be. 

“How well do you think she knows your scars?” The question perks his attention, Elena’s fingers tugging at his clothing. “If there are new ones, do you think she’ll notice?” A flash of silver has him shrinking back from her touch involuntarily. Nearly every scar he has came from the slice of a silver knife, vivid memories of similar blades drawing across his skin causing him to back against the wall in fear. 

“Running away from your punishment? That’s a crime in itself, is it not? It seems you haven’t learned anything from our…sessions…yet.” She approaches him as he backs himself into a corner, laying the tip of the knife against his skin and slowly drawing it down his chest. A hiss escapes through his teeth at the pain, followed by a pathetic whimper. If just the first cut is this painful, he barely thinks he can handle the hours of torture that are to come. 

A week of this is far too long, and any hope he had of improving himself for his mistress while she is away has died out. All he can do is hope for her to come back sooner so he can have her presence to dull Elena’s cruelty. It’s a choice between two evils—the woman who hurts him now and the woman who is likely to hurt him in the future. But in this moment he knows exactly which evil he would choose.


End file.
